


Resurrection

by hypnoshatesme



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Frankenstein (Mary Shelley), Angst, Blood and Gore, Kinda, M/M, Vomiting mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27476377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoshatesme/pseuds/hypnoshatesme
Summary: Michael Shelley cannot accept his lover's death, so he attempts to undo it.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	Resurrection

**Author's Note:**

> the server has caught some massive Frankenstein AU brainrot (pun wasn't intended) and I hope somebody will take it upon themself to write maybe a whole Thing but here's my humble offering because one scene that was being discussed would just not leave me alone.

Michael’s fingers were sore and bleeding by the time he finished the stitching. It had taken too long, _too long,_ all of it. Making sense of Gerry’s notes - they were unreadable now, too much blood and tears as Michael had to keep coming back to them, to make sure, to give his eyes a moment to look away from his grizzly work and remind himself why he had to _push on_. He hoped Gerry would forgive him. Getting everything he needed - it had driven Michael insane to wait until nightfall, to work with little more than moonlight. The stench had been a lot at first, but by the end, after going back again and again - sometimes because he needed to return what he had gotten the night before, Michael wanted everything to be perfect, to be what Gerry deserved - he had nearly been used to it. 

A foolish part of him had thought that would mean the next step would be easier, the cutting and sawing and sorting and reassembling, the blood and guts and somehow, the smell was so much worse. He had put his hair up as he always did while working, as he had done digging the bodies up that he had dragged back home. His hair was still filthy by now, a shaking hand wiping the sweat from his brow, the same blood-soaked hand brushing an escaped curl behind his ear. 

None of it mattered. The tears had dried on his face, as had the blood he had gotten on it as he worked and Michael barely felt it anymore. _It didn’t matter_ . It wasn’t worth his time, nothing was until he had Gerry _back_. Until he could hold him again. 

Michael had waited long enough, had worked and worked and _worked_ and now he was getting close to the actual point of all of it. The body was ready and Michael was panting from heaving it onto the platform. He should have probably assembled it on there right away, but there was so much _stuff_ , so much superfluous bits and pieces. There was no space. 

Michael knew he hadn’t worked neatly, the floor of what had used to be Gerry’s working space, the room where Gerry had shown him so many wonderful things, sparkling and glowing liquids, colourful fumes, where Michael had spent many a night just listening to Gerry explain his ideas, experiments, with bright eyes and an excited smile, was a mess. 

It was probably worse than any butcher’s shop, there was still so much gore _left_ despite Michael being done, and knowing full well he didn’t forget anything because he checked, he checked again and again and by now he didn’t even feel anything as he walked through it, the sticky blood drying into the stone floor. Michael was beyond disgust. His stomach had been thoroughly emptied hours earlier when he had started and could barely see through the tears that kept filling his eyes. It felt silly, now, to have been crying. It had been necessary. Michael needed Gerry back.

The thunder grew louder just outside the window and Michael didn’t even flinch. He was taking in his work. The stitches were messy, Michael had never been the one with a steady hand of the two. And of course, it wouldn’t stop shaking as he worked. But it would suffice, it _had_ to. The face looked close, very close to how it used to. It had taken so much patchwork to get it right, to find just the right shape of jaw, the most similar cheekbones Michael could find. He was proud of it, even if he would hear the cracking and sawing of bones in his dreams for the rest of his life. It was close, it was _Gerry_ . It would be Gerry, his Gerry, as soon as he awoke, Michael _knew_. It had to. The reason it didn’t quite look right yet was because he was so motionless, for sure.

Michael had finally caught his breath and started to arrange the limbs - cold, so cold to the touch. Gerry had always been warm. He would be warm again, Michael knew. _Michael_ would be warm again - folded Gerry’s hands - another difficult one, Michael _needed_ to get the hands just right, he had always loved Gerry’s hands - on his chest. Michael was leaving smudges of blood with every touch, which was okay, they could wash it all off later, when Gerry was awake, but it did bother him on the wedding band. Not his, Michael had taken his off before starting his work, but on Gerry’s. It had served as a great help to find the right fingers and now there was some blood on it and Michael had nothing to clean it with. The sleeves of his laboat were drenched in blood and gore and so was everything else as he frantically looked around the room, trying to find something to clean it with. He found a handkerchief in one of the drawers and delicately cleaned the blood off the silver band, careful to not get any new one on it as he did. 

Lightning struck outside the window, flooding the room with light for a moment, making all the blood look too bright. Michael barely took notice of it. He was gently brushing Gerry’s hair out of his closed eyes - Michael couldn’t wait for them to open again - tried to make it look like it used to. It didn’t quite work, the hair didn’t _feel_ right, but Michael was sure it would be okay when Gerry was awake. Everything would be okay when he had Gerry back. Michael gently brushed Gerry’s cold cheek with the back of his hand. The risen skin where the stitches were holding it together were nothing like Gerry's smooth cheek had been, but it was fine. It would be fine. It had to be.

The glass ceiling had been one of the first things Gerry installed after they moved in. Michael wasn’t sure what for, but he had loved the winter nights spent gazing up at the stars through it, cuddled into blankets on the floor of this room. They could do that again soon. Michael just needed to scrub all the blood off the floor. Or, well, at least whatever would come off. The worst of it probably would. 

Michael smiled at the idea of watching the stars together again. It had been too long. He had barely glanced at the sky at all since Gerry died.

On summer nights, however, Gerry would open it and they’d enjoy the cool night air without having to go outside. It wasn’t summer now - or maybe it was, Michael had long stopped caring - and the rain was heavy against the window, but Michael still went through the motions he had watched Gerry go through many, many times. The rain hit immediately, and the half-dried blood on the floor turned wet again with the water drops. Maybe it would wash some of it off. It was windy, too, but the platform Gerry’s body - no, _Gerry_ \- was resting on was built with all of that in mind. The arrester didn’t even sway. Everything was ready. Now Michael had to wait.

It took him all his self control to keep himself from getting closer as he waited. Michael had _waited_ so long, he didn’t want to be far from Gerry’s side now. He never should again. Gerry would probably not have died had Michael just been _there_. 

But it was fine, because he wouldn’t be dead for long anymore. Michael would fix this. Michael would have him _back_ . But he couldn’t stand too close, he knew. So he grit his teeth and clutched the desk, and _waited_ , eyes never leaving the platform. Gerry’s design, though Michael had to finish it. Gerry had left so many unfinished ideas and experiments behind. He would be excited to be back. Michael was smiling, though with how tightly he was gritting his teeth, it looked more like a grimace.

Thunder sounded again, louder than before, and the room erupted in light as lightning followed. Michael’s eyes were shut - as much as he didn’t want to leave Gerry out of his sight ever again, blinding himself would make that impossible - but he could still see it behind his eyelids, his ears popped with electricity he could taste on his tongue. The metallic smell of blood and gore was nearly covered by the scent of ozone and Michael wanted to _see_ . The noise was loud and sizzling, but also felt so far away and he was dizzy and none of it mattered because Michael wanted to _see_ , wanted to watch it work because he knew it would, it had to, _he would make it work_. 

His grip on the desk was white-knuckled when the light and noise faded and left behind a faint smell of _burning_ . Michael’s eyes went wide and he pushed himself towards the platform, stumbled and fell and scrambled up again, heart racing through it all though it had nothing to do with the fall. The platform was hot when Michael finally reached it, leaned on it for support. Hot was good. Gerry needed to be warm. Michael didn’t care about how it burned his fingers, how he faintly felt the electricity in his fingertips. It was fine. His eyes took him in, took in _Gerry_ , and he looked like before. Nothing had burned. Good. The smell must have been something else, and Michael had no thought to spare for anything that wasn’t Gerry right now. Hadn’t had so in a long while.

The hair looked even more wrong now, too big and frizzy and it was messy again. Michael brushed it out of his eyes again and stared at the closed lids for a heartbeat, two, three. 

Motionless. 

Michael could feel the sting of tears in his eyes again as the disappointment settled in his stomach but _he would not accept it_ . No, this must work. _It had worked_ . Michael took one of Gerry’s hands in his and laced their fingers together. It was warmer, it _was_ , he wasn’t imagining it. He squeezed the hand gently, felt the stitch across his palm, but also felt _warmth_ . Life. It had worked. It had. It _had_.

Michael smoothed Gerry’s hair with his other hand, gently, tenderly. The strands stuck to his fingers with electricity and blood and rain and Michael _needed Gerry to open his eyes_ . Any moment, he knew he would, he simply _knew_ . Michael was mumbling to him, though he didn’t know what, his voice still sounding distant. But it was fine. Gerry had always had a light sleep, Michael had woken him with mumbling many mornings. It was fine. It was going to help. _It would work_.

Michael felt the finger against his own twitch first, and his eyes flickered to their hands, stared intently at Gerry’s fingers to capture it again because _it had happened_ , he had _felt_ it, he _knew_ . It didn’t happen again and Michael made a frustrated noise somewhere in the back of his throat. He wanted to scream. But he wouldn't. He refused to admit defeat. Because he hadn’t _failed_ , it had _worked_.

“Mi…”

It was a faint, scratchy noise, but Michael heard it and it nearly made him jump, head whipping back to look at Gerry’s face. His eyes were open - Michael had gone through so many, so, _so_ many to find just the right shade - and although a little glazed over, they were perfect. _They were open_. 

Michael didn’t know if he was laughing or sobbing, but there were tears on his face again as he watched Gerry’s dry lips - they had always been dry, Michael used to fuss about them a lot when they’d crack and bleed in harsh winter air, and he would now fuss about it again because Gerry was alive and his lips were dry - move, slowly, like he hadn’t moved them in a while, like they didn’t know how. 

It was fine, they would get used to it, Michael was sure. He felt Gerry shift and realised he was trying to sit up, and Michael helped him, gently, one hand on Gerry’s shoulder. It was warm, _he was warm_. Not as warm as he used to, no, but warmer than the dead. Michael had a lot of reference for that now and he could barely contain his excitement as he watched Gerry blink, slowly. The eyelids weren’t quite moving in sync, but Michael was sure they’d figure themselves out.

“Gerry?” It was the loudest Michael had spoken in months, and he barely recognised his voice, the eagerness, the excitement.

Gerry seemed to hear him, his head moving somewhat sluggishly, but unmistakably, towards Michael. He raised his eyes to look at him, though they were still unfocused. But Michael could _feel it_ , he _knew_ Gerry was looking at him, _seeing him_ . Michael’s smile was so wide it nearly pained him but he couldn’t stop smiling, he _couldn’t_ . He couldn’t stop smiling and he couldn’t stop crying and _Gerry was looking at him_. How long had Michael waited for him to look at him again? How often had he tried to imagine it as he cried himself to sleep? 

It was happening now and Michael felt nearly overwhelmed. But he didn’t dare to look away. Never again. He gently brought his hand to Gerry’s cheek, steadying him. Gerry blinked again, this time nearly in sync with both eyes and Michael felt gleeful.

Gerry licked his lips, a bit clumsily, and his brows knit at the lack of coordination and _it looked so much like him_ . It _was_ him. This was Gerry, it _was_. His Gerry.

“M...Mi...chae...l?” The voice didn’t sound like Michael’s memory of it at all, but he had assumed this would happen. 

He didn’t care. He really didn’t, not when Gerry was speaking to him again. Not when Gerry was here, and Michael could run his thumb over his cheek, could touch him, could hold him, could _see_ him. They hadn’t let him near the body and Michael had watched it burn, burn, _burn_ from afar and he had been left with _nothing_ . But now everything was fine again, everything was _fixed_ , because Gerry was _back_.

“Yes,” Michael whispered, voice a little shaky, as he gently ran his thumb over Gerry’s cheek, just underneath the messy stitches on his cheekbones. 

He was beautiful and alive and Michael was getting blood on Gerry’s face with his filthy hands but he couldn’t bring himself to let go, he couldn’t. This had taken too long, too much time had passed without Gerry, without his warm body next to him at night, without the sound of his voice, without his fingers in Michael’s hair, without his kisses. How long, _how long_ had it been since Michael had kissed his lips or his face or any patch of exposed skin he could find? Too long, way too long.

He leaned in, carefully, one hand still cupping Gerry’s cheek, the other still steadying his shoulder, and pressed his lips to Gerry’s other cheek.


End file.
